


Australia is for Lovers

by Azure_K_Mello



Series: Scrutiny and Speculation: The Media Series [4]
Category: Smallville
Genre: Love, M/M, Romance, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-12
Updated: 2013-05-12
Packaged: 2017-12-11 16:40:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/800867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azure_K_Mello/pseuds/Azure_K_Mello
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This story is set six weeks after “Phone Chain” the press finally has its word and Clark responds.</p><p>Clark’s Age : 32</p><p>Note: This is the forth in a series. If you haven’t read the other parts you will miss some of the references.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Australia is for Lovers

At first it all seemed to go well. There were cards of well wishing, a lack of reporters. They spent three days at the farm, hanging out and recouping. Clark did chores before the hands got there. He didn’t want the hands to see him doing stuff at super speed. It was silly, the world knew he was Superman, but it felt off. He and Lex slept in the loft and it felt like he was eighteen again. It was really good. And then, Monday night, every one departed to go back to work, and the like. Clark flew, carrying Lex, over America, down to Key Largo. It was quiet and good. 

They spent their days on the beach, Lex with sunscreen and a book, Clark with sunglasses and a boogie board. They celebrated their anniversary with a moonlit dinner by the waves. It all ended after two and a half weeks when a tsunami threatened Australia and the AI calculated that Clark could easily quell the waves. Lex told him to go, that he would do business calls while Clark took care of the world. With a slow kiss the holiday was over.

Clark left his costume in the closet. The world knew who he was and the joke of wearing underwear over tights was now lack luster. He flew over in the suit he’d worn to dinner. They’d eaten at a place they liked down the beach. It required a tie but not shoes. He saw the wave, just off the coast of the island and blew on it. The wall of water turned into ice and Clark considered what to do next. Using his heat vision he cut the ice into huge blocks and carried them off to various lonely locations in the sea, dropped them, and melted them with his eyes. 

Once it was done he was thirsty and he flew into Sydney stopping at a small convince store. He smiled at the people in the streets who watched his descent. Sydney was twelve hours ahead of the Keys. It was just after one in the afternoon, it was a beautiful day, and the streets were packed. He headed into the store and waved to the girl behind the counter whose jaw dropped. 

“You’re um…” her words drifted. 

“Clark Kent,” he supplied. “Superman.” 

“Yeah,” she agreed. 

He grabbed a couple of bottles of Fuze Cola from the refrigerator and brought them up to the counter. He liked the soda, it had an apple juice base. Every time he was thirsty and near Australia he would stop off for a bottle. “I don’t have any currency on me. Do you take credit cards?”

“You’re not paying for those,” she replied. Reporters came into the store. Clark could tell just from the way they carried themselves that they were journalists. 

“But this is a store and I want a drink,” he said not understanding why she wouldn’t let him pay. “Is it because I’m not wearing shoes? See, I was in a hurry when I left the house but I could-”

“Why are you here?” she asked.

“There was,” he pointed vaguely over his shoulder in the direction of the ocean, “a tsunami.” 

“So you stopped a tsunami and you think I’m going to let you pay for two bottles of pop?”

“Well you’re not responsible for abnormal waves.”

“True but you’re responsible for us not being dead.” 

“You could get fired for giving soda away.”

“I think I could get fired for making Superman pay after he saved us.”

“Oh.” That stopped Clark’s argument and he swallowed. “Well then, thank you very much. I should go home. Thank you.” He smiled at her as he walked out of the store. 

The reporters followed him. He drained one of the sodas in mere seconds and placed the bottle in a recycling container. He liked recycling; it was the most passive good deed ever. He looked around and asked, “Do you guys need something?” He didn’t mind speaking to the press, he’d been a reporter and knew it was hard, and that anything out of a superhero’s mouth was print worthy. He had once begged Bruce for a quote on a day when Clark had a fast approaching deadline. Bruce had told him that, as Batman, a superhero needs to be aware of his sugar levels because it would be embarrassing to faint. The asinine comment let Clark get onto the front page. 

He was hit with the flair of flashbulbs and questions, why was he there, what had he done. He explained about the tsunami, told them the tides might be weird, and explained how he’d gotten rid of it. They asked after his health and he told them he was fine, and really touched by how kind people had been to him. 

Once he had finished he said, “Now I’m going to go home. It’s late at night in America and I want to go to bed. Enjoy the rest of your gorgeous afternoon.” He flew home at a leisurely pace and slid into the bedroom twenty minutes later. Lex was at his desk, ordering someone to do something over the phone. Lex smiled at him as Clark stripped.

Lex hung up and asked, “How was Australia?”

“Good, a girl gave me free soda. There’s a Fuze Cola in the fridge for you. The press was nice. It was a good first job back.” Lex crossed the room to kiss him slowly. “How’s business?”

“Same as ever,” said Lex. He ran his hands over Clark’s skin. “You’re so beautiful a blind man could see it.”

Clark laughed, breathily. “Bed?”

It was hours later when Clark woke, alone, in bed. Lex was at his desk. “Morning, you’re all over Australian news. The girl at the store got a raise for ‘her sensible act’. The journalists say you’re even more polite and calm when not dressed like a madman. And, apparently, Fuze Cola’s stocks went up because you drink it.”

“Is that good or bad?”

“I think it’s strangely sweet.”

Clark stretched. “Is all clear on our front?”

Lex blanched; obviously he’d been hoping to avoid the question. “No. Now that you’re back in business the press is having a field day. Chloe and Lois were both blasted. People want to know why you came out of seclusion for Australia, where the suit went, why you would be married to me, what I get out of our relationship, and what your mother thinks. I honestly do believe that writing a book might shut them up.”

“Chloe and Lois okay?”

“Well, the Planet ran a piece on integrity and protecting one’s sources. They also did a literary postcard on how nice it is to see you back in action and questioned whether the barefoot look was in deference to the laidback culture of Australia.”

“Maybe I should call the chief, do a piece.”

“It would be a start.” Clark reached for the phone on the desk and dialed from memory.

After a few rings White picked up, “Yes, White speaking.”

“Hey, Chief, it’s-”

“Kent, how are you feeling?”

“I’m fine, Chief. Look, I was wondering if I could maybe write a piece or…”

“Whatever you like, Kent. You know I’ve always wanted you to cover Superman. You write well, you’re Superman; you produce it and I’ll publish it.”

They talked for only a few moments more. Clark was focused on Lex. His husband was smiling so gently at him that Clark could barely hear the chief over his own heart beat. The smile felt like a challenge. Lex was saying he was happy; Clark knew he could make him happier. He agreed with White, vaguely listening until it was polite to hang up. Finally allowing the receiver to drop he said, “You’re cruel, Lex.”

Lex surged up to kiss him. “Is it cruel of me to be happy that your writing on something that held you back? Cruel to be pleased that you can finally tell the world the truth without fear? Cruel to be standing at the precipice knowing that my lover is safe? Cruel to know that I helped to protect the greatest man ever to walk the planet? To be happy that you no longer need to lie after it has crippled you? I do not think that is cruelty, Clark.”

“No, it’s cruel to give me bedroom eyes when I’m talking to my old boss.” 

“We are in a bedroom.”

“That’s not fair.”

“You’re hot, it’s early in the day, and neither of us is fully dressed; I think it’s entirely fair.” Clark stepped back and started to strip. “Did I just win the argument?”

“The only road of argument open to me is to disavow your hotness. And that would be a lie. I have a seven hour deadline, strip.”

“Do you know what you’ll write about?” Lex pulled his tee shirt over his head. 

“I’m going to thank the press for being so kind.” He ran his hands across Lex’s skin as the man snorted. “I’m serious. They’ve known about this for three weeks. Since your press conference they held their tongues and left us alone. I’ll thank them for that.”

“You’ve been thinking about this,” Lex observed.

“I have a lot I want to say.” Clark shucked off his underwear.

“You’re turned on at showing off to the Chief, aren’t you?”

“He always thought I was great writer and a shit journalist because I wanted to write about socio- political change and not Superman.” Lex laughed. “Is that a problem?”

“No, I like that your work turns you on.” Lex wrapped his legs around Clark’s waist. Clark turned and moved them to the bed. 

“You turn me on,” He claimed Lex’s mouth as they fell backwards onto the sheets. “I love you.”

“Fast and dirty?” asked Lex between licking his way up Clark’s neck. 

“I’m on a deadline.”

“I remember how it works,” Lex bit his clavicle. 

Fifteen minutes later Clark was showering quickly. Lex tried to climb in behind him but Clark had just given him a scornful look. “I could just shower,” Lex said in reply to the look.

“Right, but you won’t. You’ll wash my hair, start molesting me, and I’ll end up half comatose on the floor. Out.” He cleaned off quickly and called, “Lex, shower’s yours.” He wrapped a towel around himself. Lex leaned in and started to kiss his neck. “Six hours and forty minutes, Lex.” 

“Will you be up for it in six hours and forty minutes?”

“Lex!”

“Fine, Mr. I Can’t Think Outside of Work. You missed this, didn’t you?”

“Do we have extra keyboards?”

“Yes, hall closet.” Lex kissed his forehead. “Call me when you’re done.” 

Clark dressed in a blur and went down to his office. It was rarely used. He hadn’t written anything but freelance since he’d quit the Planet six years prior. He read all the articles about him, wanting to know what he was replying to prior to actually replying. It seemed logical. The articles just made him angry. He didn’t want to believe that people were as small minded as the individuals who’d written about him. Moreover, he didn’t like to believe that the free press would so poorly report a situation. On the up side the ones from Metropolis weren’t damning, but filled with conjecture which made him sad. 

In the first hour he shorted out only one keyboard. The second hour he burned out two more and thought he was back in fine form. He always typed too fast and too hard. The article went longer than he expected but he managed to get it to Lois prior to the deadline. 

She line edited the piece but it was, “Clean, Clear, Clark Kent typical. It’ll be printed tomorrow. It’s good stuff, Kent.”

“Thank you, Lois, talk to you later.” He hung up and went to the kitchen.

The cook looked up, “Clark, Jacob asked me not to disturb you with lunch.”

Clark sat up at the counter and said, “I was working, Mrs. Little. Can I have a toasted cheese sandwich?”

“With processed American cheese on cheap white bread.”

“Sorry, yeah. I swear: I’ll grow up some day and be less abhorrent to you.”

She smiled, “You have no taste but that’s not your fault. I suppose you also want a bowl of Campbell’s tomato soup.”

“I’m really sorry.”

“I’m one of the top chiefs in the US, Clark.”

“I know, and I really am sorry.”

She smiled. He always felt like Charlotte Little saw a kid when she looked at him. He would be forgiven any number of sins because she thought he was about fifteen. “Okay, Clark, I’ll have everything ready in about twenty minutes. Why don’t you go jog on the beach?”

“Thanks, Mrs. Little.” Clark went out and jogged down the beach. He tested the water; it was warmer than the air. It felt good. He was going to talk to Lex about getting a dog, they needed a dog. He was a mile or so up the beach when Mrs. Little called to him. He zipped back down the beach and pulled to a halt in front of her.

She stepped back, blinking. “That was odd.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“That’s quite all right, I just wasn’t prepared. You’re late lunch is ready.”

Clark ate on the back porch, enjoying the afternoon sunlight. It was perfect, sunny. His cell phone rang, “Clark Kent speaking,” he said picking up. 

“Are you done?” Lex Luthor does not whine. Therefore it wasn’t a whiney and petulant tone. 

“Lex, don’t you run an international multi-trillion dollar company?”

“Is that a yes? Because, I’m already in the car. If it’s a no you’ve missed your deadline.”

“I didn’t miss it, I’m done. But really, Lex, what about your company?”

“LLC takes care of itself, it’s fine, I’m pulling up to our road. When did you finish?”

“Nearly an hour ago. Lex, we need to give Mrs. Little a raise.”

“What did you do?”

“I made her warm up tinned soup and make a toasted cheese sandwich.”

“She’s the third seated chief in the US.”

“I know.”

Lex sighed, “Have you been into town?”

“No, why, should I?”

“No, the island is crawling with reporters. They’re outside of our driveway. It’s creepy. You haven’t seen any?”

“I’ve just been on the beach, and you know our security. Attila the Hun couldn’t get onto this sand.”

“Good,” said Lex walking out of the backdoor and kissing Clark’s neck. “Attila the Hun would be an awful guest.”

“Why are they here?”

“I think,” said Lex sitting down and picking up Clark’s crusts, “that they want a statement.”

“They get one tomorrow, through the Planet. It’s over five thousand words and if they have any other questions they had better stop being so damn rude.”

“What did you write about for five thousand words?”

“The car accident, saving you, the weirdness of Smallville, thinking I was maybe human. I talked about Mom and Dad and home. Talked about you, Chloe, Pete, Lana, and The Torch. I apologized for lying, especially to my friends, thanked people for caring. I said that, when I started, I was an eighteen year old alien who’d been raised on a farm. That I didn’t want to be some medical experiment. I said that without you I’d lose it, that you’re amazing, that people should stop speculating because you aren’t profiteering you’re my husband. That it is not the job of the press to speculate but to report facts. That, if articles aren’t headed as editorials, they can be considered liable. That we are not defined purely by what we are but also who we chose to associate with, how to act, who we endeavor to be. I said that I ditched the suit because it’s silly and I’ve lost the boundaries in my life. That it might take me time to rebalance. I said that I love this planet, the only home I’ve known, and that I hope its people can forgive me. I said that I chose Metropolis because it was always friendly and you were accepted there more than anywhere else. And I thought if they accepted the bald, mad, strange Lex Luthor then maybe they could accept a strange, dorky, gay, alien. It was your city, that’s why I took it as my own. So if it wasn’t for you they wouldn’t have ever had Superman.”

“Why did you defend us?” asked Lex reaching out for Clark’s hand. 

“Because I read the papers before I started. And… the things they said about you were worse than anything you told me. And even the Metropolis ones were rife with opinions and ideas that weren’t founded. It felt like we were being spat upon.”

“Clark-”

“Papers said I was a long term science project, that you were gay for pay in the form of information on aliens, that you’re using me. They- God, Lex, you should get them all blacklisted.”

“Clark-”

“If they said that crap about me you’d make sure they were deported and never touched a pencil again. But it’s different because they’re attacking you? Because you’re the bald freak Luthor who deserves this because of things his dead father did? No, it’s not alright, Lex.”

“Clark-”

“No, no, Lex. I don’t care if you’re used to it, or can ignore it, that you’re above it. They aren’t allowed to talk about you like that. I wasn’t going to let it go. So I pointed out that you’ve known for pretty much as long as I’ve known you, that I was a stupid kid, that my space ship was poorly concealed in the storm cellar, that you could have hurt me at any time. I said that if you were evil that you wouldn’t have wanted me as a friend, because what can a friend tell you that a battery of tests can’t? I asked why no one questioned you when you were married to a second rate reporter, why it’s so different if that second rate reporter is really Superman, because nothing has changed. Why would it be alright for you to be married to a loser but not to Superman? No one thought twice when I was stupid Clark Kent. But the minute there was something more to me our marriage was suddenly some nefarious plot. The only thing new here is that they know. We lied, all that fake fighting and posturing, but I was a kid when it started. And I apologized for that but pointed out that most of the world’s superheroes have double lives. I said that if they don’t understand and accept it I don’t care. You’re mine and they won’t change that.” 

“Clark-”

“You’re the most important person in my life and they need to realize that insulting you is like hurting me.”

“Shut up!” Lex finally managed to get out and then he leaned over the table and kissed Clark. “We’ve been together for sixteen years; nothing they say will change that. Have you been swimming or just running? Because, you seem tense.”

“I could go for a swim. Come with me? Out to the sandbar for a walk?”

Lex nodded and started pulling off his suit. He left his incredibly expensive clothes on the chair. He walked, naked, down the beach and at the water’s edge called, “Are you going to swim in your jeans? That’s going to be uncomfortable.” 

Clark started to strip as he walked down the beach. He left his clothes in the sand and joined Lex in the waves. Lex ducked under a wave and wiped at his head as he breached the surface. Lex shook his head and reminded Clark of his thoughts, “Do you like dogs?”

“They shed, need taking care of, all they do is eat, shit, and require attention.” 

“That means no puppy?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But you wouldn’t want one?”

“No. I don’t want to take care of it. I don’t want it chewing my shoes, paperwork, or stuff. I will not talk to it like it is the cutest thing on this earth: it won’t be. But I won’t dislike having a dog.”

“Would you like a dog or just not mind one?”

“My father taught me that liking animals was a weakness.”

“So that’s an ‘I not only like the idea of a dog but I’ve been denied the right to want one my whole life’?” 

“If you tell Lois I will never forgive you.” He swam towards the sand bar and Clark followed, laughing.

Lex was standing in the waist high water. He stood, head pointing upwards, as though he was soaking up the sun. Clark joined him and said, “You want to go tonight?” 

“Where?”

“To a pound, find a dog. I don’t want a pedigree pup.”

“Agreed, dog’s being status symbols is done. They’re animals not cars. But I hate pounds.”

“I’ll go tomorrow. What do you want?”

“Something that doesn’t bark too much, seems pleasant, calm, not too little. Little dogs are ugly, and yapping, and piss too much: they disgust me.”

“Right, big, pleasant dog… what about puppies that will grow up big?”

“You really want a puppy, don’t you?”

“They’re cute.”

“You know that they grow up to be dogs, right?”

“Yes, I want a dog. But puppies are the cute predecessors.”

Lex shook his head at the foolishness and took Clark’s hand in his own. They walked down the sandbar and swam in the waves, only going home when the sun started to set. 

Mrs. Little made them French food that Clark couldn’t pronounce but really enjoyed. They waited for the evening papers, to see what people were saying. Lex told him not to even bother to read them.

“But you’ll read them,” argued Clark.

“I need to know what they’re saying to see if we need to take immediate action, I need to know if I need to have someone whacked.”

“That’s not funny.”

“No it is, give it a moment to sink in. I used the word whacked in a sentence without almost any tone of irony.”

“Lex, don’t make jokes like that. They’re small minded. But I also lied to them for years. To find out that a JLA member is actually that reporter everyone looks down upon is hard enough. Add to that the fact that you are actually a good man and not a mad genius who wants to kill me. Well, it’s a shock.”

“Are you saying I’m not a mad genius?”

“No, you are, you just don’t want to kill me.”

“No, I want you safe and happy. Right now you’re only one of those things.”

“Well, I’ll get over being unhappy. They’ll get over us lying. They just need some time.”

“They need time? They find out that you’re not only helping them, but trying to lead a life, and then attack you. You’ve given them years of your life, saved, literally, hundreds of thousands of lives, and they now get to harass you? No, they should shut up and be glad that you’re happy, that you have a nice life: that you don’t have to be a superhero all the time. They should be happy that you don’t live in that frozen fortress. That’s what needs to happen.”

“They’ll get there. People take a while.”

“Well they shouldn’t. I didn’t.”

“You’re not people, you’re Lex Luthor. You can take almost anything into your stride and simply announce that you ‘need to worship you’re alien farmboy’.” 

“You loved it.”

“The worshipping yes. The lame line was still lame.”

“It’s still true you know, the needing to worship.”

“Hardly a farmboy anymore.”

“You can take the boy off the farm but you can’t take the farm out of the boy.” Lex leaned over to him and kissed the edge of his mouth. “It might take your mind off of the papers.” 

Clark leaned into the touch and said, “Only if you wake me when I’m passed out and the papers get here.”

“Yes, all right.”

“You swear?”

“I swear.”

“Okay then.”

When he woke up Lex was nudging him gently, “Clarrrrk, Cllllaaark, the papers are here.”

“You read them?” he asked with a sniff. 

“No, I figured we’d do this together… partially because if I read them alone I’m liable to burn the ones that piss me off and then you’ll be angry.”

“Thank you,” Clark pulled himself upwards to kiss Lex. They sat, under the covers, reading the latest reports. There wasn’t anything new being said, it was the same as that morning. But there was a picture of Clark in a bathing suit in The Inquisitor. They’d cropped Lex out but half his hand was still in the picture. Clearly at the time Lex had been the focus, the purpose of the photo. There was an arrow to Clark’s undefined, flat stomach and a caption that read “Man of Steel or Man of Flab?”

“That’s so unfair, I’m not flabby.” Lex stroked down Clark’s stomach, it certainly wasn’t. Clark removed the hand and pulled up the sheet. “Besides, I’m an alien: I don’t need to work out.”

“No, you don’t, you’re perfect. You aren’t what they expect. They look at the suit and think that ‘The Man of Steel’ must have abs and pecks of steel. You don’t. You have a young man’s sexy, perfect body. You aren’t some weird body builder with a complex. Don’t let the hacks at The Inquisitor think any less of yourself.”

“You have abs and pecks of granite.” It wasn’t quite a petulant whine.

“Yeah, because I spend two hours every morning working out while in conference calls. I have a complex.”

“If you got really fat, or maimed, or just ugly, I’d still love you,” Clark said pushing down the sheet again. 

“Because you are a crazy alien.”

“You would love me if I got fat, or maimed, or ugly.”

“Because I’m just crazy.” He kissed Clark’s shoulder and climbed out of bed. “Go back to sleep. I have a couple of work calls but I’ll be in soon. In the morning your article will hit the stands and we’ll see what they’re saying by the evening.”

Clark rolled back over, hand on his stomach. It wasn’t flabby. It wasn’t. Lex laid his hand on top of Clark’s. “Sleep,” he ordered. Then he moved out of the room to his other office to make calls. 

He didn’t wait in the morning for the papers. Instead he flew to England, he could have gone anywhere for a dog but he wanted one that understood English. He listened to the sound of London and zeroed in on a pound. He opened the door which jangled with a bell and a man called from the back, “Give me a mo.”

“Yep,” Clark called back. He looked at the pictures of dogs on the wall until the man came out. Within a half hour he had a puppy and was flying home. The rest of the day was spent playing with the puppy, skimming the papers. He took the puppy into the sea, out beyond the breaker waves and let it paddle with him. He ignored the stuff all the papers said about him. He focused on Ignatius, the puppy. 

He wasted all his time until the evening papers came out. And then he sped through them reading everything nasty that they said. In Metropolis they were completely silent. Outside of his city they had read his statement but treated it with scorn. After reading the responses Clark went back to the sea with Ignatius. Lex came home and waved to him from the beach. Clark swam back, holding Ignatius to his chest. He kissed Lex’s mouth and leaned into him. 

“Say hi to the puppy you named.”

“Hi, Ignatius. Have you read the papers?”

“He’s a puppy, Lex. He can’t read… at least not yet.”

“Cute.”

“I’m thinking of asking the JLA to send someone new to Metropolis. I don’t want to be an everyday superhero anymore.”

“Everyday?”

“I’ll do big stuff, like natural disasters, plane crashes, but no more little stuff. I’m not doing it. They’re spitting on us. I want to get away from America, at least professionally. Diana might want it; she likes Metropolis.” 

“So what will you do?”

“Be a good dad to Ignatius?”

“You’ll get bored.”

“True… but I can’t do this anymore, Lex. I’ll figure something out.” 

“I thought you weren’t going to let them get to you. What happened to people needing time?”

“I thought the article would make it so they understood. But, instead… Lots of the JLA people don’t have a city. Let one of them have Metropolis. Natural disasters, huge atrocities, and alien threats, I’m not going to nickel and dime only to have them spit on you and me. They’re at the farm, Lex. They’re at my fucking farm. Kansas reporters are on my farm. I spoke to my mom; they were asking her what it’s like to raise an alien. So, I was willing to have them be confused, distrustful. Not this. I’m not some celebrity; I don’t want them following me or my family. I’m not someone who’s lost everything and needs to make sense of it. This isn’t the only thing I have. I wanted to help people and Superman is no longer the way to do that. Chloe may be losing her job. Lois is getting shit. Jimmy’s being asked if the photos were staged… I’m done. Call me a press conference for tomorrow. I’m going to tell them to leave my mother alone and that I quit. People in other countries are usually nice to me. Maybe I’ll stop muggers in Rome.”

“It might just be the reporters. The people still love you.”

“They can’t attack my mom, Lex.” And that was really the end of the argument.


End file.
